


Mystrade

by DestinedForJohnlock



Series: DestinedForJohnlock's Bits and Pieces [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 05:24:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestinedForJohnlock/pseuds/DestinedForJohnlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft's a bit tied up in Daddy's lap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mystrade

**Author's Note:**

> This was written just to frustrate [Julia](http://boastsalot.tumblr.com). She thinks I'm gonna fic this one day. She might be right.

There’s something to be said about being bound and blindfolded, clothed from the waist up, shirt and coat unbuttoned and pushed over his shoulders earlier to trap his hands. He’s helplessly out of breath. Mycroft knows he must look completely ravished, hair disheveled and face a dusky shade of pink in contrast with the light splatter of freckles that adorn his nose and cheeks. His lips are parted, swollen and wet and red, and there’s the ghost of another breath on them, whispering dirty promises he can’t comprehend, not when his body is overly sensitive already, not when he’s writhing in another person’s lap, completely filled and helpless save for the growing pressure of pleasure he feels from his toes to the base of his spine. His hips twitch, another quick drag of hard skin against his prostate. But he keeps quiet, bottom lip caught between his own teeth. He feels the heat of the other body come closer, relishes in the gentle scratch of wool against his exposed skin, a lapel, a cold button that burns on his heated skin for a second. Mycroft arches into it, feels the stubble of a shave long neglected at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Two strong, calloused hands slowly slide up his trembling thighs, curling around his hips, thumbs pressing into the hollow of skin just beneath them. Then he hears the rough timbre of the other man’s voice just beneath his ear, vibrating through his skin and body, and Mycroft shivers in anticipation. 

“You’ve been such a good boy,” Lestrade murmurs against Mycroft’s skin, over one of several bruises he’s left over the course of the evening. Mycroft is rewarded with a rock of hips and allows himself to whimper. “Such a good boy for _Daddy_.”


End file.
